Do well
by misgiving
Summary: Sirius met Regulus at the Leaky Cauldron back in 1979. The first war's about and in wartimes, you can never know who to trust. [ one shot ]


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and everything concerning him belongs to J. K. Rowling.

_Takes place some time (maybe a couple of months?) before Regulus's death, in the year of 1979_. _Reviews are always appreciated._

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Do well

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"What are you doing here?"

Regulus looked up in surprise and saw Sirius standing in front of him – Sirius, who was always _so busy _with his friends and his own life and didn't want anything to do with their family anymore. Sirius, who ran away from their home just so he could be far away from them. What struck Regulus was that his brother's voice was as it had always been; playful and taunting. They had not seen each other for a very long time and the war had changed nearly everyone, yet Sirius always seemed to manage to remain the same through everything.

"Having a drink," he replied calmly, gesturing towards his glass, stating the obvious. "What does it _look_ like?" _He_ had changed and his voice had too. At least he thought so – more mature and composed – and he wondered whether Sirius noticed and thought that it'd be so very much like Sirius _not_ to notice.

Sirius, chortling, sat down opposite to his brother. "So," he said after a moment's pause. "How's life?"

"Honestly… '_How's life_'?" Regulus echoed coolly. "That's it?"

"I'm just wondering," replied Sirius with a half-shrug and his gaze travelled over the room at large. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought your lot usually stayed away from public places."

Regulus glared at him over his drink. "I don't know what you mean by 'your lot'."

Sirius laughed and even his laugh seemed the same. "I think you do know very well what I mean, Regulus." He paused, almost dramatically. "Got orders to burn the Leaky Cauldron down, have you? Is that why you're here? That's sad."

"Shut up," Regulus muttered, but he avoided his brother's eyes that were boring into him again, instead of glancing around the pub. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know _anything_."

Sirius merely smiled but remained silent.

"What?" snapped Regulus aggressively; hating how taunting Sirius could look by only smiling, how _smug_ he could look by only smiling, how he could always get to him without ever really _trying_. "Got nothing to say, have you? Finally realised you ought to keep your mouth shut?"

Sirius looked surprised. "Regulus –"

The younger brother cut him off, however, and with a tight grip around his wand he said, "No, I don't want to hear anything from you anymore. I'm tired of it."

Sirius looked down at the wand in Regulus's hand, then back to his face. "Oh, you're going to kill me?" He almost sounded amused. "Is that why you're here? Go ahead then. Don't let me keep you. Kill me, Regulus."

"_No_," said Regulus again, without really thinking of what he was saying.

(He could still remember the first time he killed someone and he could still remember the fear he had seen in their eyes.

It had been an elderly muggle couple, living in a tiny cottage somewhere in Yorkshire and he had Apparated – completely unannounced – into their small home a cold November evening the year before. The man, who had been sitting in an armchair by the fire, had gotten up from his seat, probably to tell him to get out of his house but he had barely time to open his mouth before he hit the floor. The woman had let out a scream for a half second before she quickly fell silent too.

He had Disapparated to where he met up with Bella who asked him if it had felt good and told him he had done well. He had never been so scared nor felt so sick in his entire life before and he had thought of what his brother would think if he heard Bella's words. He had done well.)

"No," he muttered again. "I'm not going to kill you."

Sirius smiled again. "I knew you wouldn't."

"Father's dead."

"What?" said Sirius, in surprise.

Somehow, it gave him satisfaction that Sirius was not prepared for him to say that. Whatever Sirius had been excepting him to say, that had not been it, perceived Regulus. "_Our father's dead_."

Sirius was silent for a moment, in which he stared down at the table, and then he looked up into his brother's eyes again. "I wish it'd been the old hag."

"How can you say that?" said Regulus and stared at him. He knew very well who he had meant without asking. "She's our _mother_!"

Sirius snorted with disdain. "She might still be your mother, but she's not my mother anymore. But I don't care, considering she doesn't see me as her son anymore either."

"You're so stupid," snapped Regulus, giving Sirius a dark look. "You really don't understand anything, do you? Things are _different_ now, Sirius. This isn't about making our mother mad, or being noble, or doing the 'right thing'. It's about life and death and the path you've chosen leads straight to death. I don't want you to _die_, Sirius."

Sirius shook his head, his voice suddenly much graver. "No, little brother, you're the one who's gotten it all wrong. If you continue to do whatever you're doing, if you continue to follow in our _dear_ and _sweet_ cousin's footsteps, you'll be the one who ends up dead. Why don't _you_ ever listen to _me_?"

(He made another dot on his left hand with his quill. They were sitting in their dark kitchen in their dark house while it was a beautifully sunlit day outside and little Regulus looked at Sirius, who continued their conversation in a distracted voice; "Don't listen to anything Bella says. She's gone completely demented, that one. Don't believe _anything_ she says."

Regulus frowned up at his brother. "What makes you say that?"

"Because she lies, steals and probably kills too," said Sirius simply, but slightly inattentively, and started doodling on his other hand. He soon realised that it was slightly harder drawing with his left hand.

Regulus gasped, however, wide-eyed. "Really? How awful!"

"Mmm…" muttered Sirius and concentrated harder on his doodling. "I think she's done a lot of bad things in her life." Twelve year old Sirius could convince Regulus anything.)

But the youngest Black rolled his eyes while shaking his head in disbelief at his brother's words but Sirius continued in his uncharacteristically severe voice, "No. Don't roll your eyes. I hate it when people roll their eyes when I'm being serious. I don't want you to die either."

He didn't feel the need to even answer that. "What are you really doing here, Sirius?"

"Came for a drink," he said, with a wink. He smiled suddenly, an honest and kind smile. "Someone actully mentioned they saw you here a few days ago and I've been stopping by every day, hoping that you'd return and that I might see you. I wanted to talk to you about something important."

"There's nothing that's not important anymore," muttered Regulus.

Sirius nodded, with a short laugh. "That's true."

"What did you want then?"

"I thought that'd be obvious?" said Sirius, getting up from his seat while speaking. "You should come with me. Join _us_ instead. Join the right side before it's too late."

There was a rather long pause, in which Sirius actually thought Regulus considered it, but in vain. "Don't be stupid," Regulus finally said, very quietly. "Your friends hate me."

Sirius shrugged, surprisingly cheerfully. "That may be so, but I don't hate you and I can talk to –"

"Yes, you _do_," said Regulus quickly. "You're just so sickeningly loyal that even though you hate our entire family, you try to convince yourself that you don't hate me just because I'm your _brother_."

"Fine," said Sirius, smiling again but it was suddenly a half-hearted and _tired_ smile. "If you want it like that, have it your way." Sirius left the pub without another word and Regulus stared after him. That was the last time they saw each other.

_Join the right side before it's too late_, thought Regulus and snorted before he drained his drink and slammed the glass back down on the table. _It probably was too late already_.


End file.
